(more pictures here)Crossing the Ak-Pai River. This photo exemplifies our travails of reaching the Ak Pai Glacier. In mid June I decided to try to ski this long and extremely skiable glacier in the heart of the Ala too Range with my ethnic Russian friend Maxim, local mountain madman and co-proprietor of the Edelweiss Adventure Company, one of the bigger tour operators in Kyrgyzstan and only heli-ski operator in the country. I knew I was in for real workout going up with Maxim, but I had no idea we'd be blazing new trails both on the way and the way down and ending up collapsed on the side of the Sokolok River road under the starlit sky wondering if Maxim would ever come down alive.
Using GoogleEarth Maxim had spied the 5 km long glacier emanating from an unnamed (we'll call it Ak Pai Peak) 4300m summit wedged between the Ala-Archa valley and the Sokolok River valley. It was one of the few area glaciers he hadn't skied, and the timing was right to bag it. After dropping off his brother and mother at the airport, Maxim's father drove us out to the stunning Sokolok Valley, about 40 km west of Bishkek. We stopped at what appeared to be the mouth of the Ak Pai river canyon, and after a quick lunch of bread, cheese, tomatos and smoked pig fat, we made our way up the steep canyon mouth. I soon noticed there was no trail, but Maxim reassured me that it would be ok, we'd just follow along the banks of the river, which cut it's way through a narrow, steeply rising canyon. With our ski and boots laden packs we made extremely little progress as we rock-hopped, bushwhacked, splashed barefoot across the river and up the valley. After nearly 4 hours we had barely climbed up 500m, and evening was fast approaching. Adrenaline and pigfat kept me going and finally as the steep canyon widened we connected with a well worn horse trail that come down from a high ridge. Indeed, a big herd of horses greeted us curiously, wondering why the hell we were up in their pristine slice of heaven. By nightfall we had finally reached a reasonable spot to set up camp, not as close to the glacier as we hoped, but good enough for me as I was at the end of my rope after 7 hours of slogging it up to over 3000m. Sub-freezing temps came quickly as we burrowed in for the night, and by morning it was still bitter cold enough to prevent us from making as early a start as we wanted.
As we headed toward the moraine, we were well rewarded with spectacular views of our destination, a splendid looking peak with a proud mantle of white gleaming in the morning sun. Now it was a race against time to beat the melting snow on the glacier and to get down in time to meet Maxim's dad at the pick-up point at 6 p.m. After a frantic scramble through an endless boulder field, we finally reached the foot of the glacier and began our steady skinning up to the top. Aside from some emergency pitstops on the snow due my intestinal displeasure, we made good progress to the top thanks to Maxim's steady pacesetting and persistent cajoling. Fortunately cloud cover kept the slopes in good shape for our descent down, which was 5 km of carving butter bliss. 25 minutes of descent and once again we had to make a mad scramble over the boulder fields, this time with time pressure increasing as we had a mere 3 hours to reach the meeting point with Maxim's dad once we departed from the base camp.
We soldiered on down the valley, sad to leave such a pristine meadow so quickly, and soon we hooked up with the horse trail over the ridge to the next valley down. Max motored ahead with superman speed, so fast that I lost sight of him and kept trekking on the following valley, only to find him running up behind me. He had already bombed down the previous valley, and as I passed on the high trail above, he screamed for my attention, but out of my earshot. So he sprinted back up 500m to grab me, then together we just booneyed down the steep grassy slope of the third valley. By that time it was already past the pickup time, and Max cruised ahead once again, disappearing down the ever-narrowing gorge. By now I was nearing the point of drop-dead exhaustion, slipping and skidding across angled rockslides, barrelling through head-high bushes, brambles and weeds, stepping through ground vegetation and plunging my feet into stream beneath, slogging and falling, bearing on my ski poles with every step as if my life depended on it, all while dusk quickly consumed the day. And then, Maxim appeared, sans backpack, to report that made it to the road, flagged down a car, and cruised back up to tell me to keep trucking while he goes back down to meet the car, which will take him down valley into cell phone signal range to call his father. Not far to the road, he pledged, but then warned me about a certain obstacle ahead.
I should soon come across his pack and skis, but nevermind it, he said, keep going until I reach the waterfall, where I'll find a rope tied to a tree. Then I should rapel down next to the waterfall, about 10 meters. Say what? Yes, but no problem, it's doable, besides, he said, there was no other way out. In a flash Maxim was gone again, as if I had hallucinated his apparition emerging from the haze, and then he blended back into the vegetation. So onward I slogged, now on auto-pilot, oblivious to the blisters and shoulder cramps and vague notions of impending doom.
I found his pack, sitting on a rock it looked pristine and freshly laid down, as if he just jumped behind a bush to take a pee. I dreaded to see what lay ahead, but my fatalism drove me on. As the canyon walls now shot straight up, I could see how the geology was shaping my fate. Sure enough, the earth suddenly fell away next to a tree with low-hanging branches. I had to duck and scoot while monkey-barring the tree limbs, only to find myself teetering on the edge of the falls as Maxim's rope was slung hopefully around the trunk and drifted down down to the earth 10 meters below. I put my bike helmet on and prayed for guidance. The falls looked so peaceful, it would be a shame to pollute it with my blood and brains on the rocks below.
I decided my life and limbs were worth more than my beloved skis and trusty backpack, so rather than try to rapel, sans harness, with the ungainly mass on my back, I gently tossed it into the reeds below where it thankfully made a harmless thud. Then I found a few trusty footholds and gradually made it to a safe jumping distance and whammy... I thrust my hands in the air and high-fived myself as I landed on my feet with all systems go. Pack on again I bounded further down with renewed confidence as the stars were starting to take their places on the sky stage. 30 minutes later I found Maxim again, and I thought salvation was at hand. You're almost there, he said. A tour company van was on the way from Bishkek and I was to flag it down on the road. But wait Maxim, you don't need to get your pack now, I pleaded, it's too dark and dangerous and surely no one with half a brain would go up there in the next few days to steal it. Just get it later. Naw, it's ok, he said brimming with Russian resolve, I will not leave it there for sure, it's no problem really, just keep going and wait for me with the car. I thought about going back with him because i simply could not fathom doing that waterfall alone in the dark. It was really dark now, and my body rebelled against the idea and just wanted to deliver my ass to the road. Of course Maxim's 'almost there' meant another 45 minutes of sliding and tripping and cursing until the canyon mouth revealed itself, with a real, blessed trail to guide me to safety. I never felt so happy in my life to see a trail and I vowed right then and there to never ever hike off trail again. I would be a devout trailist and spread the good gospel of the holy trail far and wide. 
Starlight and moonlight gave me enough hint of light to let me stumble down toward the sound of the raging Sokolok River below, and finally, the road. As soon as my pack was off I was lying flat on my back on the grassy embankment next to the road as a rush of endorphins swamped my aching body and floated me toward the star-packed night sky. It was past 10 p.m., 4 hours past our pick-up time with Maxim's dad, 28 hours after we started this mission impossible, and I was content to just lay there and die. 30 minutes later I saw the walls of the valley light up downstream, and soon enough the Delica from Maxim's tour company rolled up beside me. Though I was supremely grateful to spread out on the cushy seats and decompress, my thoughts were still with crazy Maxim who had yet to return. Not until 11.30 did he come cruising down, looking as fresh as the moment we started.
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